


Rainbow in the Dark

by ByronicHeroics



Category: Captain America (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Pet Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicHeroics/pseuds/ByronicHeroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky still has nightmares about his time as Winter Soldier and they’re getting worse. He thought that he wanted himself back but then he got it…even the dirty twisted parts that he thought had been all the Red Room. Toro’s determined to help him work through the memories, no matter what it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbow in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ani_bester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ani_bester/gifts).



_“Plokhaya sobaka.” Master scolds - bad dog-  and Winter Soldier grunts at the belt whipping over his upper thighs; he can taste the coppery flavor of blood in his mouth still. He had bitten his handler when the man slapped him; leaving a wound which had needed five stitches on the man’s hand. He didn’t like Feliks; and he knew that if he were bad enough that Master would be back to deal with him.  Even though he is being punished, he has won. On all fours, he hangs his head to avoid the angry gaze of the general but Master grabs his collar. His lips part and he pants as the collar restricts his breathing and forces him to raise his eyes._

_It is like looking up at a wrathful God._

_“You didn’t like Feliks, did you, pet?” Master inquires and Winter Soldier shakes his head without pause to consider the question. He doesn’t know why he wants to know, but he does not dare lie to Master. No. He hated Feliks because he was cruel, ugly, and spat when he talked. He called Winter Soldier the ‘boy pin up’ and slapped his hand like a child for using too much sugar when they took tea. Feliks told him that he does not have the heart of a communist, as if Winter Soldier has known something else. He doesn’t tell all of this to Master, because he has not been asked._

_Master will simply know._

_Just as expected, Master clacks his tongue softly and runs a hand through his pet’s hair to caress him. He may have been angry, but that loyalty never fails to gain the Winter Soldier lenience. His rough fingers working tenderly through the dark mane, till he finds the right spot to encourage Winter Soldier to lean into the affection. He puts the belt into Winter Soldier’s mouth so that he will be forced to stay quiet, and the flavor of blood is replaced by the taste of leather.  His firm hand begins to soothe away the sting of the whipping, rubbing warm circles over the welts. It hurts and yet he pushes back against the touch eagerly, biting the leather when dry fingers are pushed inside of him._

Bucky awoke with a start.

His heart was speeding against his breast and his mind couldn’t stop running through the scene now that he had awoken; he remembered exactly where the dream was going. How it continued with him moaning for Karpov to take him, begging like ‘the dirty little slut he was’ because he loved the feeling of cock inside of him. He remembered how good it felt to be choked while he came and how hot he was with anger to lick away his mess from the floor like a ‘bitch.’ He knew all of that, and he hated how hot and damp the bedding felt around him for it. It was hard to even think in anything but Russian now, and his mind is busy with fighting through the familiar words.

_“Plokhaya sobaka.”_

Bucky was nearly sick as he struggled out of the sticky sheets; he could feel the bile rising hot in his throat because he’s struck with the well-known humiliation of the phrase. He forced himself to swallow the sickness to maintain his pride. He doesn’t _want_ to be Karpov’s ‘good dog’ anymore!  He has to force himself to think of anything but how he perverted he is to come from these memories. How could he feel anything but shame and loathing for them? How could he be _aroused_ by what he was made into? He tugged open the window and looked out into the night he didn’t know, inhaled mouthful after mouthful of cold air and tried not to compare it to the icy Russian nights.

It isn’t till much later that he turned back to the bed and realized Tom had woken up. Neither of them mentioned what happened. Toro just tugged the sheets off of the bed and threw them to the hamper. It was quiet and neither spoke when Tom held his friend close to him, achingly hot fingers tracing the scars where Bucky’s arm used to be. He rubbed the scars so tenderly, traced the indention for the prosthesis like it’s an embrace. He’s the only person Bucky let’s touch the missing puzzle piece; he doesn’t like anyone else to know that he still feels what isn’t there.

 It wasn’t why Bucky was so upset, but he was more than willing to pretend masochism and phantom pain were what had him so out of sorts.

A week later, it happened again.

_Winter Soldier is on his knees at Master’s side and they are in public; the floor is not the familiar rug of the office.  He is much lower than the guests and he can see stocking clad feet beside woolen socks under the table. It is a small intimate party and the chair beside him is empty. He must have sat there moments ago, but no one is upset so he is not being punished for a misdoing. The floor is cold through his trousers, but he can hear the crackle of a fireplace close by them. Yet it is not nearly as warm as the hand petting his shoulders lovingly; he could stand within the fire itself and never be so warm as that._

_“Happy birthday, pet.” Master tells him fondly, and a hand offers him a bit of cake iced thickly with chocolate frosting. Winter Soldier leans forward to eat the sweet offering from Master’s palm obediently. He licks at the sweet smear of cocoa on Karpov’s lifeline till every bit of icing has been cleaned away and he simply tastes the familiar flavor of his Master’s skin. There’s a stir of laughter from the guests but Master holds him down by a shoulder when he tries to stand. He wants to hurt them for laughing at him and making it out that he is pathetic for his loyalty. It is the one feeling that is almost as blinding as his rage._

_Winter Soldier doesn’t like this treatment, but he can’t say no. How could he?_

_Master shakes his head to deny him the rebuttal; holding him down with a tightening grip. It is a warning. Does he really want to be punished here and now?  He does not want that tonight. Instead he accepts the offers of another bite of cake, tying to think past the rage as he does. Winter Soldier shakes with his anger, but forces himself to lean forward and nibble the chocolate cake from Master’s hand. He licks every crumb away till there is nothing left, and then he swirls his tongue around Master’s fingers for effect. He knows how to please._

_“General, you really mustn’t feed chocolate to dogs.”  A woman says and the room explodes into laughter._

Bucky’s cheeks were fevered and damp with tears when he woke up, though the strain of his arousal was no less evident. If he had made it only one more moment, he would have recalled the weight of cock on his tongue in a closet as he tore down rough soviet wool trousers. There would have been the salty flavor of some unknown soldier’s semen filling his mouth, the shots of vodka to wash away the taste before Karpov would know and then his near paternal kisses to his forehead.  Had the only way Bucky known to rebel against the treatment been to turn himself into the USSR’s whore? The sheets felt so hot from the memory that they were suffocating and he tried to force them away; awaking his lover with the struggle to sit up. Tom asked him what was wrong and he barked back an answer in frustration. It was cruel, but it wasn’t the malice in his tone that startled them.

_“Perestan' mne jabat' mozgi svojimi voprosami!”_

No. No. No. That wasn’t what Bucky had wanted to say, and he was angrier for a moment at how calm Tom could be in the situation. How Toro could look at the traitor his partner had become, and still be so gentle and loving. Bucky’s cock was dripping against his boxers, he was sweaty, disorientated and angry but Tom would tell him none of that mattered. He’d tell him it wasn’t his fault but it _was._ He _liked_ what Karpov did to him; lived off of the man’s praise. He swore, and again, it came out all wrong. “Chyort voz'mi!” He exclaimed and Tom reached out to pull him closer.

Bucky sobbed in frustration and pushed him away to tug open the window again. He inhaled and exhaled over and over again. It was all he could do to try to banish the memories. Tom simply sat on the edge of the bed and watched him quietly, as if he weren’t pathetic for his inability to control himself. When he was done, the other man was still there as always, holding out his arms for his partner.

It happened again not two hours later.

Tension ran through Bucky’s body and he gripped the soft sheets under him with a groan that boarded on ecstasy. His lips parted slowly and he pressed his face against the pillow with a rolling motion of his shoulders. A whine escaped him then and he twisted under the blankets, brow furrowed at whatever horrible dream had taken him over from that point. Tom knew that all the books taught to never wake up someone suffering from PTSD related nightmares, but he didn’t give a damn about that. He knew what it was like to be trapped in that never-ending storm of memories. He sat up and rested a hand on Bucky’s sweat dampened shoulder.

“It’s just a dream, Bucky. Come on, wake up.” Toro told his friend, and when there was no effect, he shook his shoulder just firmly enough to wake him. With as much time as they spent together, Tom expected the fist flung at his face and caught it in his palm without even blinking. It was hardly the first time either of them had been in this position, and Bucky’s sorrowful gaze frustrated him. It wasn’t the normal awkward laughter they had shared when things like this had happened, because it was different now. It wasn’t being huddled together in sleeping bags tucked between Jim and Steve. It was worse now, because they were supposed to be better.

As expected, Bucky sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. The front of his boxers were damp, and there was a fifty percent chance as to whether he had wet himself or came. This was what movies glorified, wasn’t it? The fact that every moment their guards weren’t up, their bodies and minds attacked themselves? The fact that Bucky fled Steve’s bed for fear of being judged, but still couldn’t take comfort in his best friend’s arms. After everything that they had been through together, how could any of this matter anymore?  Tom reached out and rested his hand on Bucky’s back, rubbing a soothing circle against his icy skin.

They were going to figure this out.


End file.
